MrsSedd@Sixty: Millennial Woman

MrsSedd@Sixty: Millennial Woman: “They are not like us at all ,” my friend and former colleague said to me recently.   We were talking about this new phenom – the Mil...

Millennial Woman

“They are not like us at all,” my friend and former colleague said to me recently. 

We were talking about this new phenom – the Millennial Woman – whom Gen X-ers (like my friend), Boomers (like me), politicians, media advertisers and businesses are trying to figure out for a host of reasons.   

She is likely a colleague.  She’s finally starting to make some cash.  She will be paying for our health care and social security well into her future and ours.  She is everywhere. 

She is my daughter.

A few days before this conversation with my friend, I sat next to a Millennial Dynamo on the Acela train from NYC to DC.  She worked for a major consulting firm on their Apple (the company) business, shuttling back and forth to Cupertino, CA.  She loved the work and they were paying her “insane” money, she said with just a trace of indifference.  Still, she was getting tired of the travel and some of the job was boring and before she went to Stanford for her MBA (“I’ll totally get in,” she said) she thought she should maybe try one more career path…like in the next 6 months, because she was only going to put off the MBA for another year.  She was 23 – time was a’ wasting.

When I asked her why she felt she needed an MBA when she was already doing really challenging work and being paid very well for it, she shrugged.  “Oh, just because. It’s good to have in case, I guess.”

Got it.

I know not every millennial woman out there is like the Dynamo. Yes, this young woman represents a relatively elite subset of the millennial generation (teens and young adults born between 1984 and 2004).  Still, I wonder if her attitude is pretty common for this cohort of young woman overall.  Based on my observations of some really smart woman I work with – in addition to the 14-year old Millennial I live with -- my take on “The Millennial Woman” is:

·        Definitely post-feminist.  Unlike my generation (you’ll find me in the crown captured in the picture above with Gloria Steinem in 1974), the Millennial Woman doesn’t think much about uneven playing fields or cracking open one’s head on the glass ceiling.  She’s too busy being special – she was raised that way and just is.  She’s achievement oriented, sure, but she’s pretty Zen about it. She appears freewheeling in her attitudes, friendships, passions, etc., but she’s intentional about making them matter. But please, don’t make a big f-ing deal about it. 

·        Not careerist.  Millennial Woman doesn’t feel allegiance to any one career path or employer.  She will probably not get a “30-year” certificate and gold watch for service on the job, and it’s ok.  More likely she’ll be a consultant by day, a DJ by night…or a high school math teacher who plays in a rock band on weekends when her small catering business doesn’t have a gig.   It’s all good.

·        A teeny-weeny bit tight with a buck.  She knows the Great Recession was hard on her parents’ 401Ks and she’s tired of hearing them complain about it.  She also knows first-hand how tough the job market can be but doesn’t want to be a lifer, so she’s careful with her cash – and if that means living with her parents for a while, well that ok, because if the opportunity presents itself, like a start-up, she wants to fly.  By the way, this “tight with a buck” thing can be seen in 14-year-olds too.

·        Confident, even when she shouldn’t be… but that’s ok, too.  Mistakes are no big deal.  Everyone makes them.

·        Smart and ambitious – just don’t let it get in the way of having a life.

·        Wants to be mentored but not smothered.  Hear that work mom?  Real mom?  Me?

·        Wants to be heard when things are just.not.ok. And if you don’t hear her when she complains about salary or work-life balance or trust issues, she won’t let the door hit her on the way out.

·        Ok being alone, because she never really is.  Maybe it’s the illusion of privacy and social media exposure that’s made her this way, but the girl can happily work from home, avoid the office, skip the school dance or bar scene, be friendless on a weekend and still have a very busy, connected social persona via FaceTime and Snapchat.  I know, because I see my daughter do this most weekends.

I hope my friends who are Millennial Woman don't think I'm trivializing them -- far from it.

I love the Millennial Woman/Girl.  She may seem intense, charming and dreamily detached at the same time, but she’s aIso a little spikey on the inside.  A challenge.  Or, as my daughter said to me just this morning:  “Mom, if I was nice to you all the time I wouldn’t be interesting.” (She really did say that, trust me.)

The Millennial Woman has the guts and gumption her mom does, but she styles it differently for sure.  Maybe all of her uniqueness will dissipate the day that first kid arrives or she trots down the aisle with her partner of choice, but I suspect it won’t.

So you go, girl.  You are special.  Good luck. Take the world on in that preternaturally knowing way you have. I’ll probably need some of that luck, too, just to keep up with you.

 

Kodachrome

For my 62^nd birthday (gasp), my husband sent off about 12 tin boxes of hundreds and hundreds of Kodachrome slide photos to be digitized.  These slides, taken by my Dad through the years, are a chronicle of my family life from the age of 5 or so, right up to my 20s.

Dad became an avid photographer only because a friend gifted him with an old camera – his first, which was a big deal, because as a young school teacher on an annual salary of about $3500 and
3 kids at home, he didn’t have the money for such luxuries.  Boy, he babied that camera and became really skilled at getting the most out of it.  The majority of his photos were taken out of doors with natural light (again, a less costly way to take photos in those days – no expensive flash equipment required) and he loved to experiment with its most dramatic effects.

The other night I spent several hours going through this catalogue of our family in its younger days.  There were at least 2 dozen photos of Rusty, our old Maine Coon cat, who lived to be nearly 18 years old and passed away shortly after giving birth to her final litter.  (She certainly lived an “active” life!) There were even more photos of our family boats:  the first boat, a 24-foot Thompson motor craft, followed by the 30-foot Elco – my, she was “yahr” to paraphrase Katharine Hepburn – a cabin cruiser just large enough to accommodate us for long weekends at Fire Island.  Finally, there were several dozen slides of my father’s crowning glory and nearly-lifelong weekend wife:  the 48-foot Huckins, a 2-cabin wooden beauty, long and sleek and always in need of major repairs.  We’d practically live the entire summer on that boat, docked in the marina at Atlantique Beach on Fire Island, happy with our little Hibatchi-prepared meals and languid evenings after lots of sun and surf. 

Most important, there were the little milestones of our lives he captured diligently:  Jill’s “Rainbow Girls” induction ceremony, dressed in a long white gown; my first sorority formal; Lise’s first high school prom; high school graduations and first days at college.  Plus old boyfriends, BFFs, goofy haircuts, and lots and lots of mid-century fashion and furniture, a lot of it pretty unattractive -- except for us, that is.

We looked like the quintessentially healthy, happy and handsome American family of advertisers’ dreams and media invention.  We weren’t rich but we were solidly middle class AND we were trim, smiling, and cuddly.  We laughed a lot, if those pictures are to be believed.  I mean A LOT. 

Predictably, I cried a little, laughed a little and whistled under my breath as I clicked on file after file of photos.  They made me completely dizzy with memories. I picked out the ones I wanted to keep – after all, I didn’t really need to keep 30 photos of Rusty the cat with a variety of her many offspring -- which will be sent to me for safe-keeping on CD.  One day soon, I’ll go through them again, organize them and spend some quality time with my younger self.  I want to make a book out of them for my daughter and my sisters.  And possibly, share a few with all of you....

My wonderful Mr. Sedd also has been quite the chronicler of our little family together, courtesy of iPhone technology and his digital, easy-to-use Nikon.  Having just revisited my Hausrath past, I am so thrilled that David and I will have many special moments with our girl to revisit fondly as we age – and for her children, as she begins her own family in some future we may not be able to share with her. 

We can’t repeat the past, nor should we want to – but we can and should connect from time to time with our most authentic selves, wearing the funky clothes and weird hairdos… the different eras, joys and reflections of time passing in our maturing faces… that we are so blessed to experience in this wonderful journey we call life.

What a gift.

Tigresses

My teenaged daughter finds frequent fault with my behavior.  I talk too loud.  I kiss her too much.  I enjoy PDAs (public displays of affection), which are absolutely verboten.

In the morning carpool, I say good morning to the other kids – but my daughter rags at me about doing my job in silence.   When she puts Top 40 on in the car, and I start to bounce in my seat to "Shake It Off," she gives me her “Jinny the Judge” look.  And then, when I drop the kids off and wish them a good day, she just rolls her eyes as she hurries away from the car.

That’s why I was so surprised when we were chatting about not much of anything important, strolling through the mall for some post-Christmas shopping.  My daughter stopped, looked at me, and said I was “so confident.”  She even smiled.  Sort of.

I practically kissed her (actually, I did kiss her, which made her grimace).  I asked her why she said that.  And she said, “You’re just so sure you’re right about everything.”

“That’s not such a bad thing,” I said (assertively, of course).  “It’s good for women to be confident.”

“I’m not confident a lot of times,” she answered honestly.  “Except when I absolutely know I'm right about something.  But sometimes, you’re not right, Mom.”

“Sometimes,” I said.  “But not very often.” I smiled.  “When I’m wrong, though, I usually apologize, right?” I needed some reassurance and received a shrug in response.

We then moved on to one of our favorite debates:  the subject of age-appropriate clothing for school. 

Even so, I was thrilled that my daughter showed how well she knows me…or observes me, take your pick.  I am a confident person.  I do think I’m right about (most) everything, except when I’m not.  Just ask some of my bosses through the years. (It has come up once or twice during my annual reviews throughout the course of a 30+ year career).

In any event, what I should have said to her if I’d thought about it for more than a nano-second, was that it isn’t about thinking you’re right about everything all the time – it’s about not being afraid of being wrong.  Confidence reflects the willingness – indeed, obligation – to be authentically who you are and to say what you think, as long as it’s not intentionally hurtful or mean.   

Small moments in life sneak up on you and give you permission to consider big things about yourself.  Of all my flaws and my strengths, confidence is one of my favorite on both sides of life's ledger.  And I’m just tickled that my daughter “gets that” about me.  Now, I want to make sure that she “gets it” about herself.  On that score, I think we’re making progress.

Happy New Year.